Sunday, November 1, 2009

straying from the goulash

I’ve been in Cairns two and a half weeks and I don’t feel like I’ve been in Australia yet. Cairns is such a tourist/backpacker hotspot that it struggles for a sense of Australian identity. It reminds me of Cancun a bit, just on a smaller scale. During the day everyone walks downtown and shops, eats, and sunbathes on the esplanade. At night the young crowd (which is pretty much everyone) flocks to the four main nightclubs that offer dancing on tables, stages, and poles until five in the morning.

Backpackers keep the city running during the day as well. All the businesses rely on tourism. Everyone walking around during the day has a backpack and a water bottle. You’re likely to meet someone from every part of the world if you stay here long enough. And the population constantly turns over since the average visit is about a week. Cairns is an ethnic goulash, stirred regularly.

While there is a staggering amount of diversity, the majority of people here are Asian. Seriously, there are Asians everywhere. Mostly Japanese. All the signs in town are translated in Japanese. Most of the streetside eateries offer Japanese food. As you walk around town, the noise of passing traffic is dulled by the constant sound of snapping cameras. They are also the only people in town, and perhaps the continent, that wear pants everywhere. I find this admirable, yet puzzling, since the climate here compares well with the inside of a Hot Pocket. It’s really an amazing display of discipline. I’ve concluded that either shorts are frowned upon in Japan, or they just do not pack well.

My favorite day of the trip by far was this past weekend when I went camping on a beach up near Port Douglas with a few friends. I suppose you could call it camping. There was only one two-person tent between ten of us. We also forgot lighter fluid for our barbeque. Planning was not one of our strengths. To start a fire we used a combination of rubbing alcohol and torn pieces of a towel that had been shoved into the gas tank of our rental car. If you’re not going to plan well, you have to be adaptable.

We spent a good portion of the day rounding up the essentials. Chicken kabobs, steak tips, hot dogs, sausages, and of course, kangaroo steak. Some beer as well. I opted for goon though. Goon is slang for a bag of wine. In Australia, it’s the cheapest alcohol you can buy. I have no idea why they call it goon. It could be because after you drink one, you act like one. There is actually a law in Queensland that you can’t buy goon before 4pm. I’ve been told it’s in an effort to keep the alcoholics sober and docile during the day.

While there was still light we played cricket, soccer, and swam. I got the hang of cricket OK, but after kicking around a soccer ball with a bunch of Europeans I definitely felt like I must have some sort of foot-related disability. When it got dark we cooked our food. Our barbeque consisted of a metal grate balanced on two logs across our fire pit. It was the best food I’d tasted since I’ve been here. Especially the kangaroo steak. It was a bit like elk meat. Kind of chewy and gamey. I hope to someday see a kangaroo in its entirety.

We sat around the fire talking for most of the night. At some point, for no other reason than feeling hot, dry and drunk, we went for a midnight swim. It ended up being a clear night, and it was the first time I had laid down and seen the entire Australian starscape. Most of us slept right on the sand, although by that point we didn’t really care. Maybe acting like a goon isn’t all bad.

1 comment:

  1. Can you post pix on this? It might help to have a few visuals to go along with the commentary--(A kangaroo steak just has to look better for real than it does in the mind's eye)
    --Dad

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